I will not let you go

I will not let you go

you are dear to me

I spent time with you

ignoring reality

I was chasing you, as palpable

I will not let you forget

me

I lost the game

but I was charging the ball

my stay

a coffin in the playground

smirks sounded like claps

from inside

I could hear my heart cry

I will not let you go

Lovers

Wind is the writer,

Earth is the page,

Stories written all around

Falling from the blue on the ground

Flowers and fruits

Grasses soft and tender

Blooming, humming round the flute,

Reaping for readers to gauge.

Wind is also a witness

To dreads of many a kind,

Earth, eager to erase

The script so dead, unkind.

Wind gifts the stars

To the earth, day and night

Despite the bruising scars

Lovers' longhand is right.

Being beyond

I was trying to look for some space

From deep inside to a far-off land  

Where I could be just me,

I closed my eyes, went to the moon

I wept,

My eyes, wet

You were also in there

Golden and fresh…

This fatal season

Where I am fumbling for some time

Maybe a little land, or a word, just a word

This yellow heat that I am sensing now

You have become golden in the silver zone.

If I could write you down,

For those tears that came

Coerced me to slip,

Open my eyes

In the moon of my mind,

There is no room

As naked as this earth,

Which part of this world is this?

Which season does my heart unfold?

Color blind I have since childhood known

Am I blinded by space too?

I hold a droplet in my nail

Behold it again and again

The physical and the non-physical

Out-pours in a drop, just a drop

That absorbs an ocean

Beyond time, being in time

Beyond space, being in space

The face shines.

The being smiles.

পরিনিতা

পড়ে প্রেম পিরিতে
পরিণতি পেলাম আমি
চড়ে বিয়ের পিড়িতে
হলাম আমি পরিনিতা
রাঙা সিঁন্দুর সিথিতে

Inference

Poverty also has poetry in it

Let’s live with it if we might

Victory of the haves may or may not retreat

Poetry can with its strength write.

Poverty

In this civilized world

How easy it has become

To move on…

Walking over violated women

A hand to the rapists,

Stampeding the poor

Affording the rich,

Running over innocence

Assisting the culprits.

In our civilized world

How easy it has become

To move on…

Talking of peace

Marketing violence,

Discussing acceptance

Nursing intolerance,

Eloquent strategies for the poor

But poverty begs from door to door.

Treat you well

Yes, I was once pushed into it,

But now I enjoy every bit

Of the sale,

Talking to the one who brings them

To me, and ah, talking to those lames

Who spread those sticky cells,

On and off the bed,

A mark of their indifferent trade.

But my dear,

You haven’t come into the affair

Still you have fear,

Want them to treat you well

Why’d you wait for it and wail,

Treat you well? What do you mean hey!

Underestimating self by giving them sway!

No, celebrate you victory

When you’re violated,

In the long trajectory

Of silence, you have overrated

The tools

Of those desperate fools.

Being there

I talk to the mountains,

I chat with the seas,

I sing with the breeze,

I dance with the trees.

I am called a loner,

By most all I know,

Some even find me a loser,

But wonder how I glow.

The cliffs call me all the time,

The seas never call me names,

With them, I never cease to rhyme,

We rock and roar in the game.

by design

hot, clear afternoon

spread in every corner

of the street

a hungry mom

buttering a slice of bread

for her child

the knife, the dollops, the slices

collected from places

the child’s stony eyes

looks at the sun

then stares at the actions

throws up

hunger has eaten his appetite

made him replete

takes the bread

throws up again

then chucks the piece in the sky

the slice falls

on the rooftop of an ngo

a crow

takes it in its paw

and flies

thanks to the butter, it slips

through the chimney

scrolls down in the cauldron

the surprised cook

preparing meal for poor children

tosses it from the window

it falls in the middle of two starving dogs

the stunning sun has stopped

the street looks like

a slice of buttered bread

twenty-four years ago
now
twenty-four years later
action stunned like the sun
poverty, starving, feeding

coexist, by design

The bond

A vagabond

            in exile

untraveled paths

no fear

                      of getting lost

déjà-vu crossroads…

christmas

crescent at night

rainbow in daylight

fresh trees

silvery hopes

au courant cheers

new linings, new ropes

the hobo has no yearning

for new years

in broad daylight

hiding from the sun

seclusion at night…

not in search of a name

in need of a land

nothing to claim

the limbs and the hands

agile

ears and eyes

moving

without ties
for a meeting

in a golden garden

by the silver pond

in the traveling

with the stars

relegated scars

only traveling

is the bond.